


Innuendo

by DasKlaus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dialogue, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5736700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasKlaus/pseuds/DasKlaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock drives John crazy. But then again, when does he not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Innuendo

"Mind if I insert myself?"

It must be a form of torture. It must be. Designed to drive John insane.

"Be my guest," answers Lestrade politely. John, who arrived before Sherlock for once, pinches his nose with his fingers. Sherlock takes two steps into the room, ignoring the body, and starts sniffing the furniture. John tries not to look at him and fixates on the bloody lump at his feet.

"Cause of death?" Lestrade asks helpfully.

"Blood loss. The victim has been undressed by force, then tortured with burns administered with a blunt metallic object, I'd guess a fireplace poker, given that it's missing from its place at the mantle. Her femoral artery is ruptured, that wound is most likely to have caused her death. She probably sustained no more injuries after that one.", John recites, proud of having deduced the missing poker all by himself.

"So he poked her with his red hot tip until he hit the right spot?"

"... Yes."

John flees the room.

 

~~~

 

"Is something wrong?", Lestrade asks him five minutes later, leaving Sherlock at the front door.

"Whiskey's on me if you can figure out what he's doing."

"Doing? He's not doing anything! If anything, he's being polite."

"No. No, he's definitely not."

Lestrade scratches his head, puzzled.

"But he's even talking to Anderson! Which is weird, true, but-"

"Take care with those skid marks, they're his from pulling out too fast," Sherlock explains in nearly civil a tone, pointing.

Lestrade shakes his head, frowning.

"Great, any chance you can get his car registration number from that?" Anderson quips.

"No, but it looks like he had a lot of junk in his trunk. Lots of weight in the back."

"So what? How does that help?"

"It means he got her and her sister together, then took the older one home! Oh, this is going to be good!"

"Took whom? In his trunk?"

"The sister, Anderson, aren't you listening? He took both here, did the one upstairs and took the other one home for more poking!"

John sees the exact moment Lestrade gets it. His eyes widen for a fraction, then he frowns, then shakes his head.

"Leaves the matter why he took the sister out, first."

Lestrade turns his head very slowly. John is fixing the wall with a stoic gaze.

"Is everything he says a double entendre?"

John takes a deep breath.

"Yes."

Horror spreads on Lestrade's face.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Good Lord!"

 

~~~

 

"Could you hold my sausage for a moment, John?"

John would probably have minded less if Sherlock hadn't shoved an actual hotdog in his face, accompanying his words.

"Toast?"

"Yes," he answers warily.

"Here, all buttered up!"

 

~~~

 

"You shouldn't have told me," Lestrade complains three days later on the phone. John, being in the middle of summarizing the case, takes a moment to remember.

"Yes, well. I wanted to share the fun. He's really good at it, you know."

"Since when has he been doing it?"

"Nearly a month, now."

"Really? How did I not spot this?"

"To be fair, you two don't talk much. I was so sure you'd catch on when he asked how stiff your rod was, though ..."

"How what my - _what_? When did that happen?"

"You know, you were holding that chalkboard pointer - he actually sized it up and ran his hands along the length, the bastard."

"How do you _stand_ it?"

"I'm a doctor, I refuse to be intimidated by sexuality."

"But he doesn't _have_ one!"

"He - he derives his entertainment from our embarrassment, I think. Or he's practicing. You remember that horrid Scottish accent he wouldn't stop doing during the whole case with the butler conspiracy? The missing limbs one?"

"Yeah. Drove the suspect crazy, too! But really, it's becoming a nuisance. Donovan threatened to file a sexual harassment complaint when he remarked how well stacked she was while passing her desk. He meant her neat file management, of course, but really, doesn't he know that's how people flirt?"

"I'll talk to him, alright?"

 

~~~

 

"I've never been in here this deep."

"Yeah, well, someone needs to repair the washing machine, and I happen to think it should be the one who broke it."

"How was I supposed to know I'm not supposed to stuff it to the brim with cucumbers?"

John sighs, trying to hold the flashlight steady while Sherlock picks vegetables out of the lint filter.

"Don't move around in there too much."

"I just. Need. To get to the right. Spot. Ah, there."

A tomato splatters onto the tiles, miraculously intact until just now. John tries to ignore his flat mate's wriggling bum next to him. Sherlock's torso has disappeared completely into the basket. Now is as good a time as any, John thinks.

"What are you ..."

Not a good start. He tries again.

"Why is it you're so ..."

So what? He should think things through before opening his mouth.

"It was an experiment, John."

_Surprise, surprise._

"It's not just tumbling around and going in circles, there are forces in play in here, and I don't understand them. "

Sherlock sounds uncharacteristically solemn, John thinks. He is not sure if his half-question has been understood, misunderstood or deliberately misunderstood, and whether or not Sherlock is talking about the washer. He has stopped wriggling, but for some reason John finds himself staring at his arse, anyway.

"Things get pushed together and rubbed against each other, and I wanted to see what it does to ... to cucumbers."

"Er ... why?" John is much, much more confused than before. There's a moment of silence. Sherlock lets out an exasperated sigh.

"It's a penis metaphor, John."

And suddenly he is right in front of John's face, who tries to lift his eyes to his friend's but only reaches his lips. There is a piece of zucchini plastered to his cheek. John wants to eat it. Seconds feeling like minutes pass.

_Doesn't he know that's how people flirt?_ rings in his ears. Oh, _hell_.

Slowly John reaches for the green thing in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asks, sounding strangely vulnerable, but staying perfectly still.

"I think I would like it in my mouth," John purrs, looking directly in his eyes and sliding the zucchini, deliberately and very, very slowly, between his closed lips.

"Oh," Sherlock says, and then nothing else.

 

~~~

 

"This would work better with your trousers out of the way," is the next thing Sherlock says, and for once John agrees.

 

~~~

 

"Acromelagy and a fresh herpes outbreak. Dead for, hm, four hours at most. He tried to cover up the cold sores and a rash with makeup, really well, too. Rigor mortis in face and hands. Fingers very long and stiff," John ends, thinking himself clever.

"Like your erection earlier," Sherlock confirms. John shuts up. The corpse manages to look reproachful.

"The murderer was obviously not waiting around for his victim to die. Slow-acting poison, administered in person, but ingested. I am considering tonguing your glans later, John, I hope that's alright. Someone cut his fingernails, but it wasn't him. We need to search the crime scene again! I prefer taking the subway, today, as my anus is unexpectedly sore and I would prefer standing."

Molly turns an interesting shade of crimson as Sherlock dashes out of the room. John throws her a helpless smile and stumbles after Sherlock.

"That thing you did with your tongue, I liked that best. I was, however, woefully unprepared for the sensation of penetration, and hope to rectify that with more experimentation later. Chinese before sex but after we find the nail clippings?"

"Could we _please_ go back to the innuendo?"

"No. Wasn't working."


End file.
